


Logic Says Burn

by cissues



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety Disorder, Craigslist, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Professor Hermann, Professor Newt, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6152270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissues/pseuds/cissues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“New to Cambridge - in need of companion/tour guide - PLATONIC ONLY”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New to Cambridge

**Author's Note:**

> Bored and drunk Newt responds to a local personal ad asking for someone to accompany a visiting MIT professor who suffers from a severe social anxiety. That professor is Hermann. They hang out. It's cute.
> 
> Title from Saviour Machine by David Bowie
> 
> Relationships and characters to be added at a later date! Possibly Tendo + Allison, possibly Raleigh + Mako + Chuck, possibly Herc + Stacker! Who knows!
> 
> This is a canon divergence that is placed before Newt and Hermann join the PPDC but the kaiju aren't gonna come probably so it just stays in AU verse where everyone is alive and happy!!
> 
> (PS: suggestions for future chapters is encouraged! Message me on tumblr at cissues.tumblr.com or comment here!)

Newt wasn’t _bumming_. He preferred to think about it as _purposefully unemployed_ , or a _voluntary leave of absence_ because teaching is hell and he was never cut out for it anyway. The faculty hadn’t mourned his loss, as Newt had expected. He wasn’t a good teacher, the students didn’t respect or even like him, and he would rather get drunk than grade papers. Still, he was their Kid Genius, the second youngest student admitted into MIT. How could they not offer him a tenured professorship? And yet, they seemed more relieved than upset when he announced his “break”.

The catch was, however, that he wasn’t all that good at saving money and was somewhat squandering what little he’d saved on alcohol and take-out. He was appreciative of the rent-free visitor housing he was currently borderline-squatting in, but the fear of eviction was constant.

Besides this, Newt was bored. At least with teaching he had something to occupy his time, access to labs and materials and funding. Without a lab, without the ability to experiment and discover, he was virtually useless.

The room around him was dark, lit only by the glow of his laptop screen. The gritty sounds of _The Man Who Sold the World_ album eked from the high-quality laptop speakers, too-loud and nearly ignored under the haze of the bottle of red wine in his hand, nearly half gone at this point. He was scrolling endlessly through, oddly enough, lists of local personal ads. It was an old habit, borne out of intense boredom and a curiosity about his local culture, one that changes so often due to his academic pursuits, the tenuous state of his family, and his own personal distaste of stagnation. The personal ads posted online became his unfiltered perspective on the community surrounding him at any given place.

Most were ridiculous, inadequately shrouded sexual requests with absurd specifications, searches for odd items, missed connections with interesting contexts. However, one stood out to him, spoke to his boredom, his need for mental stimulation, and that touched his (admittedly alcohol-influenced) heartstrings.

It was a simple, humble ad. 

“ _New to Cambridge - in need of companion/tour guide - PLATONIC ONLY_ ”

The ad itself went into an explanation that this professor - visiting MIT professor, ironically enough - suffered from a crippling social anxiety disorder that kept him from being able to leave his house for anything other than work. He needed to leave to do things like eat and shop. He was looking for someone who knew the city well, someone who was socially forward, and someone who was intellectually engaging. Newt couldn’t help but feel as if this ad had been custom tailored to him. He fit every specification, he liked the emphasis of a “ _NON-SEXUAL TRADE_ ”, which comforted him and his instinctual distrust of strangers on the internet. Besides, what else was he going to do with his time besides showing some stuffy old professor the wonders of Cambridge, Massachusetts?

Humming with drunken excitement, he crafted an email, draining most of the rest of his bottle of cheap Merlot in the process. Shortly after he hit send, he stumbled out of his computer chair and into his bed, promptly passing out.

The next morning met him with a blinding headache and a few disgusting minutes bent over his toilet. It also met him with a single email notification, sitting innocently in his inbox. His memory of the previous night was blurry and unfocused but he remembered something about an email correspondence. He hoped, desperately, he hadn’t sent a career-ending email to someone important. His worry only increased when he saw the email had an MIT address, although it seemed to be from the math department if the “gottlieb@math.mit.edu” had anything to say about it. He swallowed down a lump in his throat and silently swore off alcohol forever as he opened the email.

Then, suddenly, he remembered.

_Oh._

“ _Dr. Geiszler,_

_I thank you for replying to my advert so immediately. I was not expecting even one response so the quickness of your offer is greatly appreciated and I accept it readily. In fact, I was hoping to go out to dinner tonight and perhaps the next day take a trip to the supermarket. If you are free tonight at 7:30pm and tomorrow at 2:30pm I would appreciate your accompaniment._

_I am also open to any suggestions for restaurants and other activities in the area. Of course, anything we were to do would be my treat, as way of payment to you._

_My contact information is as listed below._

_Sincerely,  
Dr. Hermann Gottlieb_

_Visiting Professor of Applied Mathematics at MIT_ ”

Alright. So that didn’t seem so bad. Hurriedly, Newt checked his initial email. It was surprisingly well-behaved and professional, only one spelling mistake and the concluding remark of “hang loose” suggesting any sort of intoxication. Impressed with himself, Newt swore back on alcohol and made the resolution to try updating his resume drunk. Drunk Newt seemed to be even more careful about what he said then sober Newt!

Except, now he had this to deal with.

Did he actually want to have dinner with this dude? The guy sounded about eighty years old and stuffy as hell. Although stuffy and old also had the potential to be _rich_ , and Newt was pretty desperate. He was running dangerously low on funds and he could only survive on fast food and ramen for so long. Besides, if it really was awful then he could just say he was too busy and drop the whole thing.

Making up his mind, Newt typed up a quick reply including the name of a restaurant he loved called _Geschöpf Jäger_ which had exquisite and overpriced German food that he rarely treated himself to. Gottlieb responded in a matter of minutes, agreeing enthusiastically to the restaurant suggestion. Gottlieb briefly explained his German roots and said he would appreciate some authentic food from his birthplace. He also included a meeting place and mentioned that he would be using a cane so that Newt knew who to look for. The cane bit only proved Newt’s assumptions that this was an elderly man, very likely stuffy. The fact that he was a professor of _mathematics_ almost scared Newt into cancelling the whole thing. Was sitting through a dinner with an old mathematician even worth the free food? Newt’s stomach growled to affirm that, _yes_ , it was.

Sighing, Newt stumbled into the kitchen to scrape together the meager leftovers he was trying to spread as thinly as possible and made himself a breakfast akin to nutrition. He ate at his computer, staring at the emails as _Space Oddity_ drifted over his throbbing brain, and waited for 7:30.


	2. Not Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more chapter almost totally written but after that one, updates might be slow. Sorry!!
> 
> Questions/suggestions can be sent to my tumblr (cissues.tumblr.com) or in comments!!

Newt’s day passed slowly. It consisted of aimless wandering on the internet, listening to nearly the entirety of Bowie’s discography and staring at an outdated resume in desperate need of updating and sprucing up. Newt spent almost an hour picking out his outfit for no other reason than to pass the time. He ended up with his nicest slim-cut slacks and a fun, visually offensive slime-green dress shirt with a very small, alien-head pattern. It hurt the eyes to look at for too long, but it was a good way to let this dude know exactly what Newt was all about.

He spent too-long trying to style his hair into something somewhat manageable - he made a mental note to get a haircut as soon as he had spending money - that he nearly made himself late. Hurrying out the door, he double checked the meeting-place on his phone. Thankfully, Gottlieb was also living in visitor housing, and so the meeting place was only a few minutes walking distance from Newt’s own apartment. He tugged anxiously at his leather jacket as he walked, unsure of whether or not it pushed the limit of professionalism and if Gottlieb would take one look at Newt’s unruly hair, his silly top, his ratty leather jacket, his old and worn Doc Martens, and take away Newt’s chance at a free meal. He really needed this, he had to save his remaining funds for life-threatening food scarcity.

Slightly out of breath from sudden exercise after weeks of inactivity, Newt could finally see the coffee shop a block away from some of the visitor housing that he assumed Gottlieb was staying in. It made sense that the man hadn’t wanted to meet at his apartment, just in case Newt turned out to be some major creep or a thief or something of the sort. He checked his phone, relieved when he saw that he was only a few minutes late. As he slowed down from his brisk almost-jogging to a more leisurely, less desperate-looking pace, he scanned the few patrons of the coffee shop sitting at the outdoor tables but saw not one old guy. His eyes did stutter on a man, about his own age, who was sitting alone at a table. The man was, in Newt’s opinion, _completely beautiful_. Newt had always had a thing for the less conventionally beautiful, more oddly, strangely beautiful people. Something about the man struck him and he tripped over his own feet, stumbling a few steps. The man’s head whipped around, eyes wide and anxious, and Newt could see his hands trembling. God, he was pretty. Maybe Newt could grab his number before heading off with this geezer. Except, no… the man narrowed his eyes, likely because of the shirt, and turned his gaze away. He seemed to be preoccupied with something on his phone, staring at it but never moving his fingers over the screen.

Newt kept glancing at the man - mostly to admire those cheekbones and the ears that stuck out adorably - but every time he looked over the man was still staring at his phone, shoulders shaking ever so slightly and eyes still too-wide.

Checking the time on his phone again, Newt sighed when he realized that the geezer was already twenty minutes late. No email explaining the delay. He was about to give up when a sudden scrape of metal against concrete drew Newt’s attention to the hottie. He looked over just in time to see the man awkwardly fumble with a - _of course_ \- cane. Newt’s jaw dropped for a moment while he watched the man - _Gottlieb_ , he was now sure - shakily push his chair back in and begin to hobble in the direction of the visitor housing.

It was with a jump-start to his senses that Newt lurched forward, catching the man on the sleeve just as he passed. The man jerked back, eyes still too-large and upsettingly scared. The cry that came from the man’s mouth made Newt drop his hand, wondering if this could be any more of an actual disaster.

“Sorry!” He nearly-shouted, lifting his hands up to indicate that he meant no harm. The man brushed at his sleeve, looking pathetically startled, before moving to leave again.

“Wait,” Newt started, the instinct to reach out again very strong, but he held back. “You wouldn’t happen to be Doctor Gottlieb, would you?” He asked.

The man paused, glancing back over his shoulder at Newt. “Student?” He asked and, oh, his voice was so small and frightened and Newt had the urge to hug him just then. He shook his head, putting a hand on his own chest. “I’m Newton Geiszler, from the emails?”

A series of expressions crossed Gottlieb’s face at that moment. At first it was recognition, then relief, then analysis, then disappointment, then anger. That last one was the one that stayed. Gottlieb rushed up to Newt, going straight from pathetic to terrifying.

“I was waiting for you for _twenty five minutes_. I told you about the cane, Geiszler. How could you just _stand there_ and let me make a complete _fool_ of myself for _twenty five_ whole minutes?”

Newt’s hands were back up and he was struck by several things at once.

One, Gottlieb was British and his stuffy accent was horrendously attractive. Two, he was unfairly hot when he was angry. And three, Newt was _very confused_.

“Ok, I was only, like, five minutes late!” He spat back, eyebrows furrowing as he realized he was absolutely not in the wrong here and did not deserve this verbal assault. “Plus your cane was hidden! It was literally the _only_ descriptor I had of you. I assumed you were some old dude! Sorry for jumping to conclusions that were _very_ understandable, I'll have you know!”

He was breathing heavily and Gottlieb was breathing heavily and they were staring at each other. Gottlieb seemed to be processing all of this, just with a very angry expression. Finally, he backed down, visibly calming. He cleared his throat and thrust his hand out.

“Doctor Hermann Gottlieb, professor of applied mathematics at MIT. Not old. Or, at least, not _very_ old.”

Newt hesitated for a moment, considered storming out of there just to prove a point (what point that was he wasn’t sure), but instead took Gottlieb’s hand and shook it.

“Doctor Newton Geiszler. But, um, don’t call me doctor; call me Newt. Tenured professor of biology at MIT… maybe. I’m not sure, actually... I might have quit. Or been fired.” He looked thoughtfully at their still clasped hands before dropping them. “Shall we?”

Gottlieb was looking at him with an odd, now unreadable expression, but he nodded and followed Newt into the great unknown.


	3. Rotwein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner d8!
> 
> (PS: I do not speak German. If there's any outstanding mistakes, please let me know!)
> 
> (PPS: my personal headcanon is that Newt's "uncle Illia" is actually his dad's partner. Newt just calls him uncle. So Jakob and Illia are gay for each other.)

The walk to the restaurant was done in relative silence. It wasn’t necessarily awkward and Newt didn’t necessarily mind the professor keeping his mouth shut. So far it seemed the only things that came out of it were inflammatory, especially when directed at Newt. Still, there was something warm and familiar about the way they walked together, about the way they had spat words back and forth. Gottlieb was walking close to Newt, head ducked and pace quickened. It was as if he was desperate to get out of the open and away from potentially prying eyes. Newt wondered if the relative gallop was too fast for someone who used a cane. He tried not to wince at uneven steps of an obvious, painful limp.

Once they arrived at the restaurant, Newt held the door open for Gottlieb and caught a glimpse of a delighted grin before it was tucked away almost immediately.

They were seated across from one another in a booth set far away from other patrons and Gottlieb seemed to visibly relaxed. He still pressed against the wall of the booth as if the construction of the short walls around him would protect him from the gazes and attention of the other patrons.

The two sat silently for a few short moments. Just as Newt drew in a breath to ask Gottlieb a question out of pure desperation, their server bounced up to the end of their table. Her blond pigtails sat high on her head and her slightly offensive bastardization of lederhosen made her too-wide smile seem even more ridiculous.

“ _Guttentag!_ ” She said with too much enthusiasm and an sloppy German accent. “My name is Emily, I’ll be your server today!”

Newt smiled back at her, the opportunity to be obnoxious too exciting.

“ _Hallo,_ ” He said, pulling his broken German out of the dredges of his memory. “ _Wie geht es Ihnen?_ ” He asked.

Emily looked momentarily frazzled, smile faltering and eyes blinking too-quickly before her grin was back full force, an extra layer of panicked fraudulence. “Yes! Sure! Can I get you anything to drink?”

When Newt turned his gaze from Emily to Gottlieb, he found the man staring at him with a pleasantly surprised expression. He winked, delighting in the slight blush and the professor’s sudden, scrambling gaze.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll have your Haus Bier, please. Doctor Gottlieb?”

Gottlieb’s eyes met him again and, in a moment of nonverbal communication, Gottlieb’s lips twitched up as an unspoken plan unfolded between them.

“ _Ja,_ ” Gottlieb said, eyes never leaving Newt’s, “ _Ich hätte gern bitte der Rotwein._ ” He ordered. His accent was surprising. Not high Berlin, as Newt had expected. He didn’t sound like his father and Illia’s friends, he didn’t sound like the posh opera performers that surrounded his mother. He sounded almost… foreign. He wasn’t from Berlin or central Germany, that’s for sure.

“He will have a glass of red wine.” Newt translated for Emily who nodded and jotted the orders down on her notepad before smiling and hurrying away, her pigtails bouncing with her tulled skirt as she went.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Gottlieb rounded on Newt. “Why did you not mention that you spoke German?” He hissed, looking thrilled and only partially angry. Newt chuckled, shrugged as he stroked away condensation from the side of his glass of water. “Didn’t know it would’ve been so helpful.” He answered, looking out over the top of his black-framed glasses. Gottlieb rolled his eyes, sipping delicately at his own water.

“Your accent--” Newt started.  
“Bavaria.” Gottlieb answered almost immediately. “Where I’m from. I grew up in Bavaria. I only studied in Berlin and England in my school years. I suppose I never completely succeeded in altering my accent.”

Newt shrugged again. “It was just interesting. Not what I expected, is all.”

Gottlieb watched Newt for a moment, curiously. “And you? Where did you learn German?” He asked, finally. “Your accent is authentic, if… Anglicized.”

Newt smiled. “I grew up in Berlin up until I was about seven. My mom’s an opera singer there but when she and my dad split, my dad and his partner decided to move to America with me to sorta let me do more academic stuff. I wanted to go to MIT so… that’s where we went.” He stirred his water absently, only a little uncomfortable sharing his past. There wasn’t much he was proud of; he felt bad about taking his dad and Illia away from Berlin where they obviously loved to be most.

In lieu of a response from Gottlieb, Emily returned with their drinks and they ordered their food with only a minimum amount of playfulness (again with Newt translating for Gottlieb’s German).

Gottlieb shifted in his seat, glass of wine held up to his mouth without actually drinking it. He stared at Newt as Newt stared at him and they sat quietly, though not uncomfortably.

“Tell me,” Gottlieb said after a long moment, “you seem rather adept at handling situations… such as mine. Do you have previous training?”

Newt shrugged, taking a deep gulp of his beer. “More like personal experience.” He said with a self-deprecating smirk. He paused for a moment as he considered how much to reveal, but Gottlieb was looking at him expectantly, already having opened himself up so much to Newt without necessarily expecting reciprocation.

With a deep breath and a vague gesture towards himself, Newt said, “I have my own...” He gestured this time directly to his head, “stuff. Plus, I’ve known a lot of people with a lot of different issues and I’ve helped friends with anxiety before. I’ve had to figure out a lot.”

Gottlieb was smiling at him softly, both hands cupping his wine glass with a delicate nature. “That’s convenient, then.” He said simply, taking a sip of his wine.

Their food arrived and they ate, their conversation turning to MIT and teaching, safe territory for them both. When Emily would stop by, Gottlieb would switch effortlessly to German and it only took Newt a few stumbling moments before he was able to switch as well. Once they finished their meals and their drinks, Gottlieb slipped his credit card into the black leather check presenter without even looking at the check itself. Newt was only mildly impressed.

As they left the restaurant, Newt suggested he walked Gottlieb back to his apartment. Gottlieb accepted quietly and with the barest hint of a smile.

“Shockingly, I would appreciate the company.” Gottlieb said, smirking as he dug around in his coat pockets until he produced a squashed pack of cigarettes. Newt wrinkled his nose as Gottlieb put one in his mouth and went digging again for, presumably, a lighter.

“Why is it shocking?” Newt asked. Gottlieb found a lighter in his front pants pocket and flicked it to life, touching the flame to the end of the cigarette. He took a drag and released it as if releasing an incredible pressure. “Because I do not trust many people, Dr. Geiszler.” He said with a teasing edge.  
“Dr. Gottlieb,” Newt said warningly, though without any venom.   
“I apologize, _Newton._ ” Gottlieb said with a smirk. “And you might as well call me by my first name, considering.”  
Delightedly, Newt mouthed the name _Hermann_.

They arrived at Hermann’s apartment fairly swiftly, though their pace was more leisurely than it was journey there. Hermann was finishing off what was left of his cigarette and Newt avoided judgement as best he could, especially as Hermann threw the butt on the ground and ground it out with his heel.

“I appreciated this.” He said, his voice sincere and quiet. Newt smiled and he had an urge to tip Hermann’s face up towards his where it was cast downwards at the ground. But he did not. That would have been… inappropriate.

Because Hermann was still beautiful. The time spent with him did not change that initial reaction Newt had to seeing this man, and in fact it had only served to endear Hermann to him in a way he had not at all been expecting.

Hermann was smart, and gorgeous in an unexpected way, and funny, and clever. They matched in mismatched ways. It was exhilarating.

“Anytime, Herms.” He said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets.

Hermann glared at him (adorably). “Don’t ever call me that.”

Newt simply winked.

Hermann rolled his eyes. Then his face crumpled back into that anxious mess. “Anytime?” He repeated.

“Well, we have a date for tomorrow, don’t we? Grocery shopping? Very domestic.”

This succeeded in twisting Hermann’s expression back into that glare, though it was softened by the blush that rose to his ears, neck, and cheeks.

“I suppose I don’t have time to find someone else.” He said, playfully contemplative. Newt laughed, grin full on his face. “Nah. I’ll come pick you up at two thirty tomorrow.”

Hermann rolled his eyes, but smiled as he confirmed, _yes._

_Tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Newt says: "Hello, how are you"
> 
> Hermann says: "Yes, I'll have the red wine"


End file.
